


Adversus Exitus Optio Non-Est*

by BallaFedin



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 08:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BallaFedin/pseuds/BallaFedin
Summary: This micro-fill started, as many works do, from a Dragon Age Kink Meme prompt. The prompt asked for a different interpretation of the Hadriana character.





	Adversus Exitus Optio Non-Est*

9:34 Dragon  
Slavers Holding Pens  
Wounded Coast, Kirkwall, Free Marches

"You will look after Orana?"  
"Always. I swear." Hadriana stroked his silvered hair and looked for the last time into her dear friend's beautiful eyes now dimmed with pain and age.  
"Sleep, Lyman." She wove the simple spell and watched his eyes close, the ravaged lines smoothed, the harsh breath quieted and deepened.  
She pressed a kiss to his cheek. His scent the comforting mix of rue, mint, and coriander brought back the warmth that marked his domain. The one place she had felt accepted and welcomed. When she couldn't witness another degradation, she would come to that haven, and there was always his delicious polus and freshly torn bread. Always calm words and the illusion of safety.  
His family was her family, and now they lay dead by her hand, sacrificed to give her this final chance.  
She had prepared as well as she could. The magic surged through her as the dagger sliced the heart. Nothing is stronger than this rich blood. The power as the muscle convulsed around the blade brought her to her knees before she contained it.  
This must work, Hadriana clenched her fists, freedom at last, and if she failed - No. She couldn't think of the cost of failure. She would need no longer fear Danarius. She would be a free Magister, and she could protect hers.  
How did we come to this, Leto? She thought. He was her first friend, they were playmates, then lovers, their young bodies desperate in their mutual need and love.  
No, not Leto. He died when Fenris was created. She was here to kill Fenris, never Leto.  
She had begged him to lose the competition. He didn't understand Danarius as she did. He wanted, he said, only to free his mother and sister. He didn't understand with Danarius there was always a consequence.  
She watched his blade swing, his hair shone in the sun obsidian black. His muscles drenched in effort. She saw he had forgotten his purpose and was lost in his need to win, to be more than a slave. All other motivation was forgotten as he cut down his fellows thrilling in their defeat. He looked not to her in his ascendency but to Danarius.  
Perhaps she should have known then what he would become?  
He had come to her that night, incandescent in his victory never has she seen him so beautiful, so strong, so sure. He had soothed her fears, "No, Haddy, you're wrong. We'll be safe. You'll see, this is everything we want."  
She had let him console her with his words and his body. It was only when he left her in the darkest hour her fears returned, and with the risen sun Leto was gone.  
He became Fenris. Danarius' weapon, Danarius' surrogate, Danarius' willing collaborator.  
She watched his gauntleted hand crush the heart of her brilliant friend leaving nothing but a sweet husk. She hated him then. So proud as Danarius praised him. The first slave he hadn't killed, her friend, Orana. She showed her hatred, as much as she dared, in petty malices towards him, and he learned to hate her in return.  
"Magister! They come." The guard's panicked voice breaks her thoughts.

9:34 Dragon  
Danarius Compound  
Minrathous, Tevinter Imperium

Danarius crumpled the letter. He would miss Lyman's polus. The new cook hadn't mastered the seasoning yet. Too much coriander and not enough mint? It was sometimes an inconvenience the illiteracy of the slaves.  
"Magister?" The boy stood slender and straight, flanked by two slaves. His gaze is sure.  
"Your mother is dead. Your rights of imperial citizenship are forfeited. You now belong to me."  
"My mother? Magister, I don't understand. I am the son of a Tevene!" The boy's voice shakes only slightly.  
With a signal from Danarius, the two slaves force the boy to his knees and bow his head in a mock obeisance.  
"No, boy, you are the son of a slave." Danarius gently lifts the child's chin. The boy has his father's eyes.

*failure is not an option. Polus is a type of soup.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually continued this story but sadly, because it was brilliant (no), I poured a drink on my keyboard and lost the work.


End file.
